A Situation Not Entirely Unlike A Bad Joke
by Luckysparkle
Summary: Daniel/Wilhelmina UST. 'It crosses his mind that this whole situation is like a bad joke, ‘an Editor In Chief and a Creative Director walk into a bar…’


Title: **A Situation Not Entirely Unlike A Bad Joke.**

Author: Luckysparkle

Rating: Pairing PG-13

Pairing: Daniel/Wilhelmina

Disclaimer: Not mine, but sometimes I wish they were.

**Notes: The songs referred to are 'Paradise City' and "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns n Roses.**

**A Situation Not Entirely Unlike A Bad Joke.**

It crosses his mind that this whole situation was like a bad joke, 'an editor in chief and a creative director walk into a bar…'

--

Even if he'd tried to imagine the most wholly unexpected and inconceivable idea for his plans on a Wednesday night, His subconscious could still never have managed to come up with this: Sitting in a dive bar, drunk and listening to classic rock with Wilhelmina Slater.

It was a couple of days after her Ted debacle and his Sofia fiasco, and she'd turned up, knocking at his door with promises of alcohol and something other than loneliness.

That was 4 hours ago, now here they are, perched on dingy stools and trying to hold themselves up on the sticky bar. They hadn't uttered a word for the first couple of drinks, just sat silently peeling labels from bottles and stirring cocktails. A couple more drinks and she was managing the occasional biting comment at him and the other drinkers, and he was wishing he hadn't answered his door all those hours ago.

But now along with their sobriety the awkwardness had left, and they're endeavouring to hold bizarre drunken conversations although never anything too serious and nothing about Mode.

For the life of him he can't imagine why she's bought him here. It certainly isn't her usual hang out, all peeling wood and stained furniture, but regardless, he's decided he likes it. It might have _something_ to do with the drink, but at the moment there's nowhere he can think of that he'd rather be. This place, this awful stinking wonderful place must have caused some kind of shift in the universe; because here he is, admiring Wilhelmina's leg flexing back and forth as she's tapping her foot to the beat of Guns N' Roses, and the buzz he's got is just enough so his mind doesn't stop him.

"I'd like to go to Paradise City."

Her foot stops it's drumming and she swivels on the stool to fix him with a bewildered stare, "Excuse me?"

He waves an arm in the direction of the jukebox as if in explanation, "It's the song. I want to go to Paradise City."

She mutters something under her breath that he doesn't catch before rolling her eyes at him, "Give me a minute, I'll have Marc send the driver that doesn't mind the mileage on trips to crazy peoples imaginary worlds."

"You're much funnier when we're drunk. I still want to go, they say the grass is green…"

"…and the girls are pretty." She finishes, humouring him.

He can't stop the resulting grin and mental images that come with that one, "You like the pretty girls."

She offers an almost-smile back at him and it's nice and new because they're as good as enemies, and enemies don't smile at each other. Unless of course they've spent the night talking, drinking and **very** occasionally laughing.

"Sorry to disappoint Daniel. I'm a woman who works for a fashion magazine, I appreciate the pretty of other women, I don't have sex with them."

"If you did, I'd like to watch."

She cocks her head and regards him with an odd look, "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He suspects that admitting that would take the evening somewhere beyond the unspoken boundaries they've set for themselves, so he just shrugs his shoulders and signals for the bartender and another round.

He wouldn't have taken Wilhelmina for a Corona drinker but as soon as her inhibitions were loose enough, propriety went out of the window with her martinis. What's really astounding him though is how he can't manage to drag his gaze away as her lips close around the lime she plucks from the bottle neck, and he's desperately trying not to think about what he'd really like to see her lips closing around.

Suddenly that buzz isn't quite enough to stop his conscience from screaming.

He almost runs for the door when realises he's unconsciously rubbing his hand across the back of his neck to stop himself reaching out to catch the resulting drop of juice that falls to her bottom lip as she bites into it. Before he can get to enthralled one of the bars cheap lights starts to flicker somewhere just past her, probably as a warning, and his fuzzy vision can't take it so he turns his attention back to the bottle in front of him.

"Just so you know, this doesn't make us friends." Maybe it's not just his conscience protesting at their newfound truce.

"Wilhelmina, I don't think anything is ever going to make us friends." Which was true, he's beginning to think he'd be able to bend her over his desk without a second thought, but be her friend? Never.

"Good. We need more Axl."

Before he can even properly comprehend what she's just said she's already half way to the jukebox, a little wobbly on her feet but no less fantastic to watch, and he certainly isn't the only one doing that he notices with an unwelcome feeling of jealousy. The song switches and she's walking back his way, swaying her hips to the intro of 'Welcome To The Jungle', which is a shame, because he likes that song, and never again will it be quite as satisfying as it is right now.

'**Welcome to the jungle**

**Feel my, my, my serpentine**

**I, I wanna hear you scream'**

Jesus even the Jukebox is against him tonight, he let's his head drop onto the bar in front of him with a thud and groans in frustration.

He can't work out why she's all of a sudden the most appealing woman in the city, but he's pretty sure it's a bad sign for his mental health that she is. It's probably the drink. Maybe she's drugging him? That must be it, that's why she dragged him out tonight and that's why he's finding it very difficult to control himself. Yeah, and Betty's _stripping_ on the weekends.

What's definitely not helping is the hand, _her _hand, with the fingertips that just danced along his back before stopping to grip his shoulder , Even less help is the arm that followed and is now draped across the back of his neck and he's really trying to ignore the inviting body pressed against his side. Of course as soon as she speaks, the warm puffs of breath against the shell of his ear only add to his problems.

"C'mon Danny-boy we're done for the night." The hand she has resting on his shoulder beats down a couple of times for emphasis.

Without raising his head he mumbles into the wood, "My name is **Daniel**."

"So you keep saying, Get up."

He tries not to dwell on the fact that when she steps away from him he misses her warmth. However those thoughts quickly disperse when the very pointed tip of a very expensive shoe connects with his shin.

"What the hell?" He raises his head to glare and she's smirking devilishly at him.

"I told you, we're done for the night. We've both had enough. Up."

"No." He replies sulkily.

He see's her foot pull back, getting ready for another assault on his leg, and decides his shins will thank him if he listens to her.

"Don't give up do you?" He slowly pushes himself away from the bar and slides off the stool to stand on wobbly legs.

"Never." Unfortunately he's not too drunk to catch the underlying meaning there.

They make their way outside and as soon as the door shuts behind them the cool air brings unwelcome clarity. Being inside was like another world, but out here they can't hide or pretend, it's as if the city's watching them and things are as uncomfortable as when they first walked into the bar.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and watches as she finishes pulling on her lavish white coat.

"Wilhelmina…"

"Daniel?" She raises an eyebrow at him expectantly.

"I guess I should say thanks for tonight. It was..." He doesn't quite know how to finish, he could say 'amazing' but they both know that's a lie. In truth the night was weird; fun at times and awful at others, but that didn't sound too impressive.

Instead she finishes for him, "Tonight wasn't too horrible, but don't tell anyone."

She steps towards him and presses a perfectly manicured finger to his lips; and while he imagines she's trying to be full of that elegant grace she usually embodies, she looses her balance and falls against him rather haphazardly.

It's no more than reflex as he swiftly wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against him to keep them balanced, but it's certainly not reflex that his arm stays there holding onto her securely, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't loving every second of this.

"It'll be our dirty little secret." His voice is low and gravelly from the alcohol and he's sure he didn't intend for that to come out as filthy as it sounds. When he realises he's not the only one who noticed he holds his breath and waits for either the resulting slap or kiss; But she just laughs loud and sharp in his ear and its probably the closest thing to a giggle anyone will ever hear from Wilhelmina Slater, and just for tonight, he'll let it be magnificent.

--

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